


Daddy Under the Mountain

by FalovesPa



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Thorin has a lot of kids, Thorin has a teenager, Thorin has to give the sex talk, Thorin is a Daddy, Thorin is the best dad ever, Thorin survives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalovesPa/pseuds/FalovesPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots about Thorin interacting with his children - some prompts based on Tumblr sites imaginexhobbit and thorinoakenshieldconfessions - and most coming from my headcanon that Thorin survives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Special Delivery: How Lillian Came Into the World

**Author's Note:**

> These are individual one-shots/drabbles, not a continuous story.

You dropped your basket of flowers as sudden pressure radiated through your belly and water ran down your leg. 

The baby was coming.

“THORIN!” you called, with every bit of energy you could muster, before resting on the ground.

Uninterested in flower-picking, Thorin had stepped away to smoke his pipe. He’d argued with you that morning about this being an unnecessary trip, but you had insisted on having flowers of your choosing by the bed before the baby came.

He’d grumbled, annoyed with your strange longings, but he had agreed to take you to the fields anyway. Now you realized you should have listened to him.

You heard his pony galloping toward you. Thorin slid off the beast before it came to a full stop. There was no need for questions. He rushed to your side and tried to get you up, to take you back to Erebor where healers were waiting.

“No time,” you said, crying out again. You wanted to push.

"Tell me what to do,” he said, desperation in his low voice.

“Your pelt,” you said. “Put it underneath me.”

To your surprise, he did not hesitate in removing his cherished pelt from his shoulders, and slid it under your bent knees. Then he stripped you of your undergarments and most of your layered skirt.

You felt the baby’s head trying to come through, aggressive and determined, just like his father.

You screamed and pushed for several minutes, but to no avail.

“I can’t do this!” you cried helplessly. The pain from pushing was not accompanied by the stings and aches of pushing too hard.

But Thorin wasn't letting you off the hook.

“YOU CAN AND YOU WILL!” Thorin roared.

You looked at him, expecting to see anger. But all you saw was the fight in him.

He moved in front of you again and placed his hands on your knees, looking between them.

“She — this baby — has a full head of hair,” Thorin said, tears welling in his eyes. A healer to the royal family told you the baby was a girl, but you, unlike Thorin, had your doubts. Dwarf girls weren’t born as often as boys.

"So hard to push…"

“COME ON!” he urged you.

With all your remaining strength, you held your breath and gave one final push until you felt the baby slip from your body.

It started to cry, and so did you.

Thorin worked quickly and silently, pulling a knife from his boot and cutting the umbilical cord. He rested the baby on the pelt as he ripped your skirt in half. With one piece, he gently wiped the child clean. With the other, he swaddled the tiny thing, who immediately quieted.

“Everything is fine,” Thorin assured you, beaming at the baby. “Perfect.”

Had you ever seen him look this tender before, this in love - ever? Your heart burst looking upon the complete happiness on his normally stern face. He moved in close to the little one and kissed the small, pink mouth as gently as he could, brushing the baby’s tender skin with his beard. It let out a quick, sweet whimper.

“Let me see our son,” you said, eagerly reaching for the bundle.

Thorin came to your side and placed the child on your chest before stroking your cheek and smiling.

“We have a daughter.”


	2. Be Still, My Love: Calming Lily After a Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin sings a lullaby to his firstborn after she has a nightmare about Orcs.

The whimpering began low and muffled, barely audible. But with each disturbing image that flashed in the six-year-old’s mind, the muffles became cries, and the cries turned into screams.

“Please, NO!! Let me go!”

Lillian - Lily for short - sat up straight in her ornate gilded bed, the beautifully embroidered sheets twisted in her small hands.

Thorin burst through the door with a lantern, the queen, and a guard behind him. He ran to Lily’s side, placed the light on the floor and sat next to her, cradling her in his arms.

She leaned her head against her father’s chest and sobbed.

“Adad, it was awful,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “They were pulling my arms and my hair and trying to take me away!”

“Who would do such a thing?” Thorin asked, already knowing the answer.

“Orcs!” she cried, her small frame shuddering at the thought. “I was so scared!”

She began to wail even harder, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck. He held her close and pulled her onto his lap.

You folded your arms and shook your head. You'd told your king that it was not a good idea to talk about those vile creatures within earshot of Lily, even if he was boasting about how many he’d slain. But he didn’t see any harm in her knowing at a young age that even though there were dangers in the world, he could protect her.

Without looking up, Thorin motioned for you and the guard to leave him with the scared child. After their quiet exit, Thorin smoothed Lily’s hair from her face, whispering “Shhh…it’s all right, my darling” in her ear. He began to rock her ever-so-slightly, running his fingers through her long, wavy hair.

He began to hum a familiar tune. Lily immediately began to feel at peace as she kept her ear close to her father’s chest, his bass rumbling. He sang the song he wrote shortly after her birth:

Be still the night

With all its fears

Be still the storms

And all their tears

Be still the shadows

Their darkness, flee

Be still, my love

And trust in me.

Let my strength see you through

Let my light shine in you

Be still the shadows

Their darkness, flee

Be still my love

And trust in me

Thorin ended the song, and listened to Lily’s deep and calm breathing. She was limp in his arms; serene sleep had returned to her. He smiled and kissed her freckled nose, then lifted her carefully and rested her head on her pillow. He tucked the blankets around her snugly and, even though she couldn’t see him, placed his hand over his heart.

“I promise,” he whispered, “No harm will ever come to you, for as long as I live.”


	3. Bedtime Story: Lily, Thror and Thrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin falls asleep with his three little ones after reading them a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From imaginexhobbit.

There they were, huddled together on your daughter’s bed, with their strong father Thorin in the middle, darling little Thror and Thrain to his left, and sweet Lily, the oldest child, to his right.

You stood in the doorway and smiled as he read the story of his company’s encounter with the trolls, a rather heavily embellished tale he had written out just for his first-born nith and two nidoyîth, based on the adventures during the journey to reclaim Erebor.

He was doing the voices of Bert, Tom and William– those three “stinking trolls,” he read, wrinkling his nose with every unflattering word about the beastly trio, making his little ones squeal in delight. Two large ornate lanterns hung from the vast ceiling, casting soft light on the cozy group, making them look absolutely angelic.

He glanced up at you from the bound parchment and gave you a look that only meant one thing: he was about to do some big-time creative storytelling, if for no other reason than to hear that cheerful sound of laughing children, a sound that compared to no other.

You felt the sensible mother in you coming on.

“Don’t stay up too late,” you said softly. “Early to bed, early to rise.”

“Oh, please, Amad!” Lily cried. “Adad is just about to make up some good parts!”

"Just a little while longer!” the boys whined in unison.

Thorin dropped the parchment and playfully pressed his palms together, mouthing “please.” His children brought out the child in him, too. It was beautiful to see.

How could you say no?

You nodded, smiled, and left them to their story, which now included an Orc on a warg…and eagles..and two more wizards…and Mahal knew what else.

You retreated to your room for a small biscuit, tea, and a little reading yourself – not quite as fantastic as the troll tale down the hall, of course, but it would suffice.

Before you knew it, you were out like a light.

An hour passed, and as you always did late in the night, you reached for your King, so you could lay your head on his large chest.

He wasn’t there.

You blinked and squinted a few times before you got out of bed and shuffled back down the hall.

Your King, in all his glory, was fast asleep, your children still snuggled on either side of him. Lily’s face was smashed against his right shoulder, a trickle of drool on his blue tunic; the boys were sort of tangled together, crushing his left arm, and yet Thorin seemed completely comfortable, with the most peaceful look on his face. His mouth was slightly open, and ragged snores fell out. The troll story was folded on top of his chest, and the lantern light was much lower now, about to go out.

They still looked like angels.

You thought for a split second of waking Thorin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

The scene was just too perfect to disturb.


	4. Don't Leave Us: Thrain's Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and his queen beg their premature, weak baby son to hang on.

“’Your majesty, you must come now.”

The King had been spending time with his four-year-old daughter Lily and two-year-old Thror in their nursery when the healer called to him solemnly from the doorway. 

He hugged and kissed his darlings, promised to return soon, and left them in their governess’ capable hands.

Every step up the cold staircase felt like 10,000.

He opened the door to the chambers he shared with you and found you exactly in the same spot as before, holding the underweight, frail, boy who arrived nearly two months too soon, Thrain III.

He is very weak, the healers said, time and again over the last 24 hours. He does not suckle, he does not cry.

He will not survive.

Thorin sat next to you on the edge of the huge bed, where you’d been all night, singing all the Dwarvish lullabies he, Balin and Bofur had taught you, making supplications, trying to get him to nurse, and crying — using every power you had to will the child to live another minute more.

But time and his energy were running out.

A small band of healers exited the room quietly as you tearfully passed the swaddled baby from your hands to Thorin’s.

The king had been too overcome to speak to his son before that moment. You found the words for him, and let them flow through you during the night. “How your father loves you, Thrain,” you told the quiet child. “He loves you, he loves you…”

As Thorin gazed upon his second son for what appeared to be his last few minutes, he knew exactly what to say.

“My dear boy,” he whispered, “my dear Thrain. Do you know who you’re named after, my son? A great leader of our people, a loving father – everything I hoped to be to you, everything I hoped you would someday become.“

“Thrain, you have a destiny, a purpose here. I see it on your face. Don’t leave us.”

You put one arm around Thorin’s back and draped the other across his cradling arms, silently continuing your petitions for your third child’s life to be spared.

Thorin kissed the top of Thrain’s head, the tuft of soft black-brown hairs mingling with his beard. He placed another on his forehead, right on a faint swirl of fine dark hairs, then left the lightest, most gentle peck on his pink mouth. He rested one hand on top of his son’s chest, feeling his labored breathing.

“Don’t leave us.”

You said it with him as you both closed your eyes: “Don’t leave us, Thrain.”

It felt like an eternity passed between those words and what happened next.

You were the first to peel your eyes open.

“Thorin, look.”

The King had assumed that the grip he felt was your pinkie. But when he opened his eyes, he saw it was Thrain’s index finger. The short, stubby digit was wrapped tightly around his father’s. 

The boy’s eyes were also wide open: big, curious, and beautiful, an unusual cobalt blue rimmed in bronze. He looked from you to his father with complete recognition, his lips pursed as if sending a kiss.

A deep, jubilant laugh leaped from Thorin as he realized that, all along, his son had been feeling the strength of his mother, the hope of his father, and the undying love from you both as you wept over him and pleaded for him to stay, together. It just took him some time to gain his own strength.

The child felt warmer, he breathed easier, and his little mouth began to pucker like a fish. He whimpered, his face scrunching into a cry.

You and Thorin looked at each other and gasped with open, big smiles.

“He wants to eat!”

You pulled your gown down to one side with haste and desperately waved for Thorin to place the child in your arms. He attached himself to you without any guidance.

You had cried so many sad tears, it felt wonderful to shed happy ones. Thorin lovingly watched his son nurse for several minutes, then got up, ran to the door, and flung it open, shouting, “My son is going to live! Do you hear me? Thrain is going to live!”

Within seconds, the healers returned and watched in amazement as the sickly, small, dying boy suckled like a healthy, full-term baby.

One day, the prince would have a full beard, waist-length hair - darker and longer than his father’s, but just as glorious — and impeccable skills in battle and diplomacy.

But for now, he was a resilient, extremely hungry baby, son of the Queen and King Under the Mountain.


	5. You Have Been Warned: Rescuing Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's oldest child's nightmare comes true as she's taken by a vengeful Orc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin insists you stay at Erebor while he, Kili, Fili and Dwalin hunt down the Orcs that took your daughter. But your sister-in-law knows who can really show those Orcs a thing or two.

Thorin had never run so hard and so fast in his life. Not during his arduous quest to reclaim his home, not trying to escape from Smaug.

Those occasions paled in comparison to the news that his eight-year-old daughter had been captured by an Orc pack while out on a lesson with her riding instructor.

Scenario after horrid scenario flashed through his mind as he, Fili, Kili and Dwalin rode out beyond the edge of Dale, where his firstborn and the instructor were last seen before the attack.

His thoughts turned to you, wishing he hadn’t left you in anguish the way he did, but it was necessary.

He told you to stay put, and when you protested, he promised that he would return Lily safely, but he couldn’t risk you getting hurt, too.

Then he kissed you hard on the mouth, and left with the others on the fastest ponies in their possession.

You watched helplessly from the great gates, feeling weak in the knees, when two strong arms came from behind you and grabbed your waist, propping you back up. You whipped around.

“Don’t you dare faint!” Dis snapped. “Come on!” She grabbed you by your hand and led you to the armory.

“The Sister of Oakenshield”

The Orc pack hadn’t gotten very far, and Thorin quickly realized that was by design. 

The line of Azog continued in the filthy leader of this pack, a terrible, mamBolg’s son, who had been threatening revenge ever since the Battle of the Five Armies.

He held a rusty sword to Lily’s throat with his right hand and kept her plastered against his reeking body, with his left, making her face her father. The riding instructor lay several feet away, broken but alive.

Thorin’s companions took off to fight the rest of the pack into the forest.

“Adad!” Lily cried, her small frame trembling in the monster’s grip.

“It’s all right, Lillian,” he said, using every bit of willpower he had not to charge the Orc. But just one false move and Lily, his heart, would be dead. He had always promised her he would let no harm come to her, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.

“It’s time for my revenge, Dwarf runt,” the Orc said.

“Let her go.”

“She’s mine now.” He brought the blade to his mouth, licked it slowly, drawing dark thick blood from his tongue, then placed it back against Lily’s skin. She winced from the foulness.

Thorin lunged forward, ready to choke the life out of the Orc, then stumbled as he thought better of it and stopped himself from carrying out the move. Angry at Thorin’s attempt, the Orc pressed the knife at an angle against Lily, and she screamed.

“LET HER GO!”

“Killing her would be too easy. I have other plans,” he said, the left side of his mouth pulling up into a crooked, violent smile.

Not another second passed before his smirk disappeared and Lily’s countenance brightened.

“If you will not do as the King commands,” said a familiar female voice, walking up along Thorin’s left, “then listen to his sister, who is just as deadly, if not more so.”

Dis held her bow and arrow in expert form at the Orc’s head.

He began to laugh so hard he threw his head back and shook.

“The sister of Oakenshield, coming to fight his battles!”

“He can fight his own battles,” Dis said. “I just win mine.”

The Orc laughed again and pulled Lily closer.

“Things won’t be so funny when your skull is split open,” you said, holding your flail with the extra-long chain by its handle, completely in control, like it weighed nothing. “You have been warned.”

“Who are you?” he scoffed.

“That child’s mother.”

The Orc spit something in what sounded like the Black Speech, then glared at you as he purposely twisted the tip of the knife into Lily’s neck. A small bit of blood trickled over her collarbone.

And that’s when Thorin lost it.

“I’ve Got His Head”

With a battle cry he charged the Orc, no longer thinking about what could go wrong.

But you and Dis had.

“I’ve got his arm,” your sister-in-law said.

“I’ve got his head.”

The Orc rotated his wrist and prepared to slice Lily’s neck with the duller side of the blade to give her a most gruesome, agonizing death.

Thorin let his weapons clang to the ground and leaped toward both of them. Lily screamed and struggled against her captor, elbowing him as hard as she could.

Dis released the arrow and pierced the Orc’s right shoulder, causing him to jerk back, drop the sword and release Lily, who went tumbling forward into her father’s waiting arms.

He pulled her down to the grass and rolled with her out of the way. When they came to a stop, he tucked her head into his chest to shield her eyes from the impending murder.

You rotated the flail handle in your hand like a jump rope, the whoosh and hiss of the spiky metal ball stabbing the air.

The Orc looked on in complete surprise, and began to back up.

With every ounce of hatred, love, fear, and bravery you had, you reared back, then let our a guttural scream as you extended your arm and the handle forward, the long, snaky chain reaching out until it obediently put the spiked metal sphere right where you wanted it: in the middle of the Orc’s head, splitting his skull open and ending him.

“Âkminrûk zu”

Dis rushed over to the riding instructor and helped him up, tossing one arm around her neck to give him something to lean on.

Just then, Kili, Fili and Dwalin came running onto the scene, having defeated the rest of the pack. Dis filled them in on what had happened. Dwalin began gathering the discarded weapons while Fili grabbed hold of the instructor, allowing his mother to help Dwalin.

“It’s all right, it’s over, my sweet girl,” Thorin said. He looked over her neck wound, which was minor. He then patted Lily’s soft brown hair and let her come up for air, making sure she was still angled away from the destroyed Orc.

You ran over to them and crouched down, breathless, and began patting her shoulder. She looked up and smiled, her face streaked with tears.

“Âkminrûk zu, Amad,” she squeaked, then turned her face up to Thorin. “Âkminrûk zu, Adad. And, to everyone….” She sobbed into her father’s shoulder.

“There’s no need to thank us, child. This is what we are here to do,” you said. You reached for Thorin’s free hand and pulled him up, Lily, now quieted, still safe in his arms.

“I can walk,” she said, wiping her face and wiggling out of Thorin’s arms to stand on her own.

“That’s good,” Kili said, coming over to inspect his niece, “because I think all of our four-legged rides have returned home.”

“That sounds like a good place to be right now,” you said, wrapping your arm around Thorin’s waist and walking together side by side.

Lily walked in between her doting uncles and the instructor while Dis and Dwalin walked ahead, keeping an eye out for any other threats.

“That’s where I thought you were staying. Home.” Thorin whispered.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t.”

Thorin sighed. “It appears I will need to talk to my sister – again.”

“And tell her what?”

He stopped, gave you an extra squeeze, and leaned into your ear.

“Thank you.”


	6. Horsey: Frerin and Rowan Have Questions for their Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Thorin's twin sons accidentally walk in on him playing "horsey" in the middle of the night with you, the King begins to explain the birds and the bees.

Swordplay was keeping his eight-year-old twins busy in the center of the study while Thorin sat in his wooden folding chair and adjusted the new D string on his harp.

Frerin and Rowan were there for a music lesson, which Thorin insisted on conducting himself, but in the middle of playing “Misty Mountains Cold” the old string popped.

“Remember to lunge, Rowan. Stop being so stiff,” Thorin said without looking up.

“Yes, Adad.”

“Too late! Got you!” His twin gloated, pressing the wooden sword to his brother’s chest.

Rowan protested by dropping his weapon and quietly proclaiming that he was done with this “boring” game.

As thunder rumbled outside as it had for the past 18 hours, the boy sat by Thorin's foot and began playing with his father's bootstrap while Frerin continued practicing his moves.

“Adad,” Rowan asked timidly, “why were you and Amad playing horsey in the middle of the night?”

Thorin wasn’t paying attention to Rowan’s inquiry. The stupid, stubborn string was being stupid and stubborn.

“Why, Adad?”

“Why, what?”

Frerin, always the louder of the two, spoke up as he spun and sliced the air with his sword.

“He said, 'why were you playing horsey with Amad?'"

Frerin stopped practicing his moves abruptly, thought for a moment, then added, "with no clothes on?”

Thorin slowly lifted his eyes from the harp and saw the curious expressions on his sons’ faces.

He processed what they said: Horsey...middle of the night...no clothes.

They walked in on us, he thought.

Thorin cleared his throat and fidgeted with the string more, finally attaching it. He was not prepared for this conversation.

At all.

“How did you open the door?" Thorin said. He shot a look at Frerin, who shifted his eyes downward. “Our door is closed and locked at night for a reason."

Frerin puffed his cheeks out like he always did when he was caught, which was often. It wasn’t his first time busting locks. Nori had taught him well.

“We were scared of the storm,” Frerin piped up defensively. “There was a lot of lightning and thunder.”

“I didn’t know you two played horsey,” Rowan said, barely above a whisper.

"That didn't look like horsey, that looked like wrestling! I mean, there was only one candle in there and we couldn't see that well, but you sounded angry!” Frerin said.

“I wasn’t angry. And how long were you standing there?!”

“Only a second - honest, Adad. We left as soon as we heard you growling and Amad crying," Rowan said, lowering his head and sounding as if he were about to cry himself.

The child had to be telling the truth, because there was only about one second that the two of you weren't making noise.

Thorin peered over his harp at his son. He knew he wasn’t handling this expertly, but he wanted them to know you were fine.

“She wasn’t crying.” Thorin patted Rowan's head lightly and smiled. “I promise you, I would never, ever hurt your mother.”

Then he blinked long and hard, and exhaled. Addressing throngs of people was easier than this talk.

"My sons, when two grown -"

“Ew.”

It was Lily, his oldest, suddenly standing in the doorway, her arms folded.

Lily, 13, had had the talk in various forms several times in her life. Her parents never shied away from her questions. Starting when she was very young, with each announcement that she would have another sibling, she always asked where they came from. For a while, the explanation was simply "Adad and Amad made the baby."

But a few years ago she got the real talk from her parents, and apparently she was still convinced that it was the most illogical, gross thing she’d ever heard. Or maybe it just sounded that way when she thought of her parents.

Thorin gave her the "please let me handle this" look, and she sure enough recognized it. But since entering puberty with a vengeance, Lily had moments of pushing her limits.

“That wasn't horsey! I'll bet they were –“

A-B-G-D-C-G-G-B-D-A- F-D!

Thorin strummed his harp as wildly and as loudly as he could, drowning out his daughter.

The new string popped.

He shook his head slowly at her. If this talk with the twins was going to happen, it wasn't going to come from her.

Lily nodded and looked at her father apologetically, thinking better of just blurting out what she knew.

“Come on, boys,” she said. “I came up here to get you for lunch."

Frerin and Rowan seemed to forget the horsey incident and all their questions as they eagerly got up to follow their sister.

First, they came over to Thorin and gave him hugs, thanking him for their lesson, albeit brief.

“Aren’t you going to eat lunch with us?” Rowan asked.

Thorin smiled warmly. “I’ll be there in a moment. And -" He tousled their hair, "We'll talk more later. I promise."

They nodded, then followed Lily, who mouthed "I'm sorry" to her father, and meant it. Thorin nodded. He couldn't stay cross with her for long.

As he watched them leave, he made mental notes to discuss with you the boys' questions, where to go from there, and to put a better lock on the bedroom door.


	7. The Waiting: Kieran is Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's sixth child is born, and the six-week waiting period until he can make love with you again begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First published on thorinoakenshieldconfessions.tumblr.com

The newest addition to your family is asleep at your breast, full, content and angelic. Thorin sits beside you on the edge of the bed and gently runs his fingers over the baby’s tuft of black hair, then leans down and kisses him on the forehead before placing one on your lips and moving on to your neck.

You close your eyes and enjoy the feel of his lips against your sensitive skin, wondering how in the world it is even possible to be so aroused after ten hours in labor.

He continues kissing your neck for a few seconds more, then peers at you pitifully, about to pose the same question he’s asked after the birth of each of his children.

“Six weeks?”

Of course, you play along, and stick out your lower lip. Yes, it would be more than a month before you could fully enjoy each other sexually again. For two people who made love as often and as intensely as you did, this was always the most difficult stretch of time.

“I will begin counting down right now,” he says, touching his hand to your cheek.

“You know there are other things I can do for you – a bit later, of course,” you say, grinning. “I did just have your sixth – and final — child.”

There is emphasis on the word “final.”

You expect him to protest just a bit, because he loves being a father, but you see it in his blue eyes: he agrees with you. Your family is complete.

The oldest, feisty and clever Lillian, was conceived after the heartbreak of losing the baby you made on your wedding night.

You thought your soul would never heal after your miscarriage. But several weeks later, on a clear, cool, starry night, the grief lifted, and you felt desire for your husband return like a rushing wave.

Nicknamed Lily, your only daughter entered this world in a rush, her father delivering her in a flower-adorned field.

Sweet Thror, after Thorin’s grandfather, was created after a night of merriment at a summer festival in Dale, which included the drinking of much good wine, followed by the shedding of all clothes as soon as you returned to your chamber.

When torrential rains forced the cancellation of an early-morning hunting trip, Thorin returned to your side in bed for a different type of hunt – the best kind, giving you Thrain, named for Thorin’s father.

But Thrain arrived too early, underweight and sickly. Though no one expected him to live past the first 24 hours, you held the child in your arms all day and night, crying and praying and singing life into him, willing him to live to see another day, and another, and now he was the strongest of them all.

On your next wedding anniversary, you were stuck in bed after twisting your ankle. Thorin was massaging your leg, and then he was kissing it, and the kisses traveled up your thigh, and soon he was taking off his trousers…

The twins — rambunctious Frerin, so-named for Thorin’s fallen brother, and shy Rowan, named in honor of your father — were the result of that anniversary celebration.

And last, there was beautiful Kieran cradled in your arms. After seeing this child’s face and hearing his name in a dream, you roused Thorin from his sleep and savagely made love to him, determined to make the child you envisioned a reality.

And now here he is, sleeping deeply, oblivious to his loving parents, or that his older siblings are off playing games with their doting uncles Kili and Fili.

Five weeks, three days, 22 hours, 30 minutes and 14 seconds from now, the two of you will have enough of flirting, dirty talk, passing slaps on the arse, neck nuzzles, playing footsy at dinner, seductive looks across the room. You won’t be able to wait the full six weeks.

You will make sure Kili and Fili are available for extended rounds of hide-and-seek with your little ones and that a nursemaid can tend to Kieran while you and Thorin rediscover each other.

The word “final” will be forgotten.

You will welcome a second daughter, Leslie, her curly brown hair crowning her head, perfect in every way. 

And you will begin your countdown again.


	8. A Princess Should Wear This?: Shopping With Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin accompanies his eldest daughter, a teenager in this fic, on a dress-shopping excursion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as Thorin/reader on imaginexhobbit, but to cut down on confusion with the "reader/wife" in this series of fics I changed it.

“Where are you off to?”

Lily's father’s voice startled her. She was outside the front gates of Erebor, a guard at the ready to lift her onto her pony. Thorin stood just inside the entrance, squinting. He’d been in meetings and hadn’t seen the sun in days.

She smiled warmly at him, but briefly. Lily had her final appointment with the tailor in Dale to pick out a dress for her birthday party, and didn’t want to be late. The Queen was supposed to join her, but regretfully couldn’t break away from her own meetings. Lily explained all this to her father as quickly as she could and took the guard’s hand.

“No need for a guard. I will accompany you,” Thorin offered, stepping outside. “I could use the fresh air and a break from all this business.”

She let out a low, painful groan. The guard shot her an empathetic look and went off to fetch the King’s pony, returning a few minutes later. He helped her onto her beast. Thorin was already on his. And then they were off.

The journey was mercifully short. Lily hoped her father didn’t hear her grumbling, and didn’t catch her rolling her eyes at the thought of him helping her shop for clothes. He could be sweet – and impossible.

After the ponies were hitched and she went inside the shop, the tailor rushed over to her enthusiastically and bowed respectfully. Lily was always so pleasant to deal with. But as soon as he saw the King, he began to sweat. He bowed, greeted him just as he did her, then dabbed his brow with a hanky before speaking again.

“I know you’ve narrowed down your choices,” the man said, his eyes darting back and forth to the King, “but I thought you might also consider a few others that weren’t quite ready the other day.”

Thorin settled back in the armchair at the front of the shop, and crossed his arms, judging the tailor. “And why weren’t they ready for my daughter the first time?”

Lily spun around, glared at him, and placed an index finger over her mouth. Shush. He copied her, but had no intentions of staying quiet. Then she turned back to the tailor. “Yes, please, I’d love to see them.”

One by one the tailor presented different dresses, in all lengths, colors, and styles. Some were very fancy – too fancy – and bejeweled. Others were too plain, not enough embellishments. A few were too loud in color, and several were gorgeous - to Lily.

But Thorin hated them all, and made his displeasure known.

“No.”

“Mahal, no.”

“Where’s the rest of it?”

[Deep growling]

“It looks like an undergarment.”

“It looks like a drapery.”

[Mild Khuzdul curses]

“Absolutely not.”

“A princess should wear this?”

“My pony relieved himself of something that color.”

"It looks like a napkin."

[More growling]

“No…”

Finally, Lily couldn’t take it anymore.

“Enough, please!”

Thorin looked at her as if her head were on backwards. The tailor gulped, excused himself, and quietly slipped out of the shop to smoke his pipe. He’d heard family arguments among Dwarves before and they could be quite unpleasant.

“What’s all the fuss?” Thorin asked.

“I should be asking you the same question! This is my event, father. It’s not a royal ball! Let me choose!”

He looked at Lily sadly, and she could see it in his eyes: she was still a wee child to him.

“They were not good enough for you,” he said.

Lily sighed and sat before him. “’Adad, I will choose wisely. But I have to make the decision. And you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“And how do I do that?” he asked.

“Well…” She thumped his skull, “you can stop talking, for one.”

They smiled at each other, and the smile erupted into laughter. She leaned in close and flung her arms around her father’s neck, holding him tightly. She knew it was hard for him to let go of the fact that she wasn't a baby anymore.

Suddenly Lily pulled from the embrace and smiled brightly.

“Wait right there,” she said, standing.

She opened the front door and called for the tailor, who returned, happy that all was well with father and daughter. The King actually apologized for his rude comments - in a curt, gruff way, of course, but it was an apology nonetheless.

Lily asked the tailor for "The One," and he knew exactly what she was talking about.

From the back of the shop, he retrieved a dress hidden under a sea of paper and led the princess to the curtained changing area.

When she emerged several minutes later and stood before Thorin in the royal blue dress with thin straps, a simple sash and matching gloves, the King was awestruck.

Tears stung his eyes.

“Beautiful,” he said.


	9. I Give You My Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin calms his children's fears and assures them that there are things that even he is afraid of.

When Thorin’s son Kieran was 12, he was thrown from his pony during a leisurely ride with his siblings.

Immediately after the incident, he elected to stop talking, even though he had been given a clean bill of health by the most gifted healers in Middle Earth.

His youngest sister Leslie did his talking for him, even forgoing her beloved axe-fighting lessons with Dwalin to be her brother’s voice.

You, their fierce, loving amad and Thorin’s Queen, had already taught the children the Dwarven sign language iglishmêk, in part so they could communicate better with Bifur, but mostly because it was just an important thing to know.

Somehow, though, Leslie could just tell what was on his mind because they had one of the more unusual bonds of all the children, even the twins. 

One beautiful autumn late evening, one month and two days after the fall, Thorin was attempting to restore his youngest son’s faith in the beasts, with Leslie close by his side.

“I give you my word, you will be safe, Kieran.”

Thorin had led them out to the wood with Little Bonny, Kieran’s new pony, who was the most docile of the lot.

Leslie looked at Kieran, who stared back at her with frightened eyes.

“That’s what you said last time, before our ride,” she said, reading Kieran’s thoughts.

Guilt grabbed Thorin by the top of his tunic like angry fists and forced him down, where he wallowed in it for a moment as Leslie touched her father’s hand. Like her older brother Rowan, she could be extremely sensitive and empathetic to others.

“I should have been with you that day…” Thorin started.

Kieran saw the regret in his father’s eyes and quickly signed, “No, I blame myself.”

Then the boy hesitated for half a second, before signing: “I am scared.” 

“Everyone has fears, Kieran,” Thorin said tenderly.

“Not you,” Leslie chimed in.

For the next several minutes, Thorin was hardly able to contain his emotions as Leslie relayed how Kieran - and all the children, in fact — regarded him with an almost god-like reverence. All the tales he had shared about his victories in battle made Thorin invincible in their young eyes.

Kieran grazed Leslie’s hand, telling her one thing more.

“And that’s why he doesn’t want to ride. He is not like you,” she said.

Thorin swallowed, taking a moment to look at his youngest children in awe, admiration, and love.

“Leslie, will you please leave us a moment?” Thorin said, placing a hand on her shoulder, then nodding toward the mountain. “Dwalin had your axes sharpened, remember?”

Leslie couldn’t stifle her excitement, though she was also a bit hesitant to leave Kieran’s side. Her brother nodded that it was ok. A guard who had trailed along behind them walked with her back to the mountain.

After she left, Thorin knelt to Kieran’s level.

“My son, when I said that everyone has fears, I was including myself.” He looked away briefly, searching for the words, then locked eyes with Kieran again. “Do you know what my biggest fear is? More than getting hurt or dying in battle?”

Kieran shook his head, his wavy, shoulder-length russet hair swaying softly from side to side.

"Losing all of you," Thorin admitted. "It haunts me, Kieran. And that is why your mother and I do everything in our power to protect you and to teach you how to keep yourselves safe…"

"That’s why every one of you is skilled in weaponry and knows how to bind wounds and how to survive off the land if you ever need to. Because we love each of you more with every breath we take. We want you to have long, happy lives, where you know your fears, face them when you must, and conquer them."

Thorin sighed. "And that’s why I’m not going to force you to ride now.”

The King stood back up. “Face this when you are ready, and not a moment before.”

Thorin began to turn Little Bonny around, but Kieran placed his hand on his father’s, stopping him. 

And then for the first time in 32 days, Thorin heard his son’s innocent voice.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

“You’ll - you’ll stay with me?” Kieran asked as he looked nervously at the pony.

“Always, my son.”

Kieran squeezed his father’s large hand, turned to Little Bonny and stepped into the stirrup, his father holding his waist for support, and trying to hold back his tears of pride.


	10. We Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, Thorin Oakenshield lived a long, remarkable life beyond BOTFA. And when it was time to leave this world, he was surrounded by love.

The weakness and pain was centered in Thorin’s chest. It was difficult to breathe, but he was hanging on.

His friends, the last surviving members of the brave company that helped him reclaim Erebor, had already visited him. They reminisced - spoke of the horrible, stupid trolls, of Beorn’s home, of Smaug, of the Arkenstone, of the Battle of the Five Armies, those who had been lost - gone but never forgotten.

It warmed his slowing heart to see old Bilbo, as fastidious as ever; Bofur, still singing and wearing his floppy hat; Gandalf semi-jokingly proposing one last adventure; and Thorin’s cherished nephews, Kili and Fili, now older Dwarves with lives and royal responsibilities and families of their own.

King Thranduil, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had also traveled to pay him respect in his last days. The visits were amicable, and heartfelt, filled with peace and understanding.

Thorin’s sister Dis had been brought in very briefly earlier that day, herself weakened by age and declining health. But she would not go before him, she joked. Thorin was older; she said she would “allow him to lead this time.”

And that time had now come. Everyone knew that after his beloved queen died, he would soon join her - his love, his rock. They could not be so long apart. 

His children surrounded him: Lillian; Thror, Thrain, Frerin, Rowan, Kieran and Leslie. They made a circle around his bed, in birth order, looking at him with pride, love and honor, each in their own way.

Lily ran her hand over Thorin’s long gray, glorious hair and smiled tenderly, fixed on his cloudy eyes. Thror kept his head low, sneaking teary-eyed peeks at him from time to time. Thrain concentrated on his father’s strong jaw and broad shoulders, features that had not changed since he was a young boy looking up at the impressive, brave ruler who was simply ‘Adad’ to them.

Frerin gently knocked shoulders with his twin, Rowan, both of them swaying ever-so-slightly to a mournful song only they could hear. Rowan let his tears run down his face, as he had so many other times throughout his life when he was overcome with emotion. He let the tears fall without wiping them, without apology.

Kieran’s arms were crossed, his forehead wrinkled. He tried to look stoic. It was taking everything in him not to sob into his hands, but he would feign control as long as he needed to.

And then there was Leslie: the youngest, the one most like her father – stubborn, gruff, focused, sometimes downright impossible - and forever, fiercely devoted to her family.

“Adad, may we get you something?” Lily asked softly.

Thorin looked at Thror. “The decree.” His voice was raspy and low.

Thror perked up, left the circle and returned a minute later with a large parchment from his father’s study, where he’d helped Thorin write out the order in secret several months before. He placed it in his father’s shaking hands.

"What is that, father?” Frerin asked.

Thorin handed the paper to Lily. “Changes.”

Lily looked over the document, her eyes widening the more she read. After she reached the end, she turned to Thror, the second-born, the male who was to assume the throne after their father’s passing. He took the decree and passed it along to his siblings.

"You agreed to this?" Lily asked in shock.

Thror nodded. “This is absolutely the right thing to do.”

Around the circle of children the decree went, every eye popping, every mouth opening as they read.

“Not everyone will approve,” Leslie warned.

“Thror would be a strong and wise king,” Thorin said, his breathing heavy between each word. “But Lillian is firstborn, and also strong and wise.”

"Stronger," Thror added, nudging his teary-eyed sister. "And wiser."

“Do our cousins know?” Frerin asked. He and his brothers and sisters were close to Fili and Kili and wanted no bitterness between them.

"They were present when Father wrote it," Thror said. "They gave it their blessing."

Thorin started to say something, but coughed violently instead, and the force of it felt like his chest was cracking open. Lily called Thrain to bring him some water, but Thorin waved off the request. The coughing fit ended within a few seconds. He leaned his head back against the robust pillows and let his eyes travel around the circle.

“Each of you has made me very, very proud,” he said, exhausted. “Proud to watch you grow. Proud to be your father.”

The children crowded closer to him and sat on the bed, their hands outstretched, caressing his hands, pushing the fabric of his shirt up to touch his arms, stroking the ends of his hair, reaching over to kiss his cheek.

Thorin decided to take deeper breaths. The pain was subsiding, because he was fading.

“I’ve seen many things in this world. Your whole lives, I’ve told you all about my adventures. But I’ve never seen anything as wonderful as my Queen and my children.”

Frerin’s body rocked as he wept; Rowan tried to steady his brother by putting one arm over his shoulder. Leslie buried her face into the silk comforter, both hands on her father’s forearms. Lily continued to run one hand over his hair, while the other held tightly to Thror’s wrist.

Thorin coughed a few times, then swallowed, and went on, though his voice was getting weaker.

“Your beautiful mother - she gave me each of you. My seven. My seven gifts.”

Thorin closed his eyes, then exhaled slowly.

Leslie lifted her head and moved closer to her father, making sure he could hear her. “Go to her, Adad. We will continue to make you both proud. I promise.”

“We love you.”

“Father, we love you.”

“We love you so much.”

“Dakhatsu, Adad. Rest.”

"Be at peace, father. We love you."

“Thank you, Adad.”

On and on they repeated the words through their weeping, and when Thorin opened his eyes for the last time, he saw them all as precocious children again – pummeling him with questions, amazing him, cuddling with him during story time, driving their pretend Uncle Dwalin mad, confiding their fears to him.

He closed his eyes and let their words carry his spirit to the halls of his fathers, to his precious younger brother, to his love – away from the mountain he had fought so hard to reclaim, where his people prospered once more, where his family grew and flourished.

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, had been King Under the Mountain, a kingdom that prospered under his rule and saw great glory. But his greatest title was father. And because of his legacy, he would live on.


	11. The Anniversary Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's oldest child commissions Ori to draw a family portrait for her parents' upcoming wedding anniversary. Prepared to suggest several changes to the artist after looking over the first sketch, the children soon realize that the early portrait has already captured their family perfectly.  
> Art by: Leslie Johnson

“FRERIN! Come in here, you immature imbecile!”

Hearing his name, the fourth son of Thorin, King Under the Mountain, doubles back on his tracks down the wide, red velvet runner-lined corridor and enters the study where the annoyed voice is.

He finds his oldest sibling sitting at the marble-topped teakwood desk in the sprawling room, once designated for all the children’s lessons when they were small.

A half-eaten pear in hand, he looks over Lily’s slumped shoulders.

“Ori is finished already?” he asks, sloppily chomping.

“This isn’t the final piece. And you already RUINED IT!”

Her younger brother leans over, sloppily chomping and smiling.

“Looks fine to me.” He stands straight up and takes another bite of the pear before throwing the core clear across the room, into the flames crackling in the large jade fireplace.

“This is portrait is for Mother and Father’s anniversary, and this silly face is all Ori has of you!”

“Calm down, Lily.”

“I should have known you’d do this. Your own twin didn’t want to sit next to you.”

One by one, the fussing draws the attention of the five remaining siblings passing by the spacious room, nestled in the center of the royal family’s private wing in the Lonely Mountain. They file in, eager to get an early look at their parents’ anniversary present.

They all gather round the desk - Thrain, Thror, Kieran, Leslie and Rowan - and inspect the sketch.

“Aww! Look at Father’s big supper plate of a face!” Leslie coos.

“Matches his pride!” Thror says with a laugh, everyone joins in.

“Yikes. Leslie and I really hemmed you in, there, Thror,” Thrain says apologetically.

His big brother shrugs. “I didn’t mind sitting back. My shoulders would have knocked you over, anyway.”

“Wow. Look at Adad’s smile,” Frerin says, about to touch the paper before Lily swats his hand and he pulls back.

“I’m pretty sure it has something to do with a certain someone about to give him a kiss,” Lily says, then frowns at her mother’s pose. “I think I’ll ask Ori for a different look for Amad. She didn’t spend the whole time kissing Father’s cheek and grabbing his braid, did she?”

“No,” Kieran says. “He was sneaking kisses of her most of the time.”

“Do you think he’s noticing how gray she’s getting?” Leslie asks, her voice soft as she looks over the profile view of her mother’s wiry, lightening hairs.

“Do you think he cares?” everyone asks her, and she responds with a smile and quick shake of her head.

“Oops. Ori left out Father’s arms,” Lily notices.

“He isn’t finished,” Rowan answers. “This is just the first look. Ori can add the arms and other details later.”

“We don’t really need the arms, do we?” Thror asks. “I seem to recall that Father had his left hand on his lower back nearly the whole time. All the standing was starting to hurt his back.”

"What about his right hand?” Lily says.

Kieran clears his throat, drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose before lifting up and answering. “It was on Mother’s, uh, back...I mean, hip...I mean, bum.”

“Ew.”

Frerin looks at Lily and narrows his eyes.

“And you called me immature.”

“They’re so lovey-dovey...”

“Lily, do I have to remind you of how we all came to be? Probably started with a hand on Amad’s bum! Doesn’t Father have the most children of anyone who lived in Erebor, ever? I’m surprised our parents didn’t have more children.”

“And I’m surprised they didn’t stop after you, Frerin,” Thror laughs.

“Hey, you insult me, you insult Rowan. We were a package deal!”

“He’s two minutes older than you. So, yes, I’m just insulting you.”

The laughter and back-slapping lasts another few minutes, as the siblings start falling into their old rhythms and dynamics, honed in this very room for so many years.

“Well, let’s make a list of all the things we want Ori to change or adjust for the final drawing,” Lily announces authoritatively. She grabs a quill pen and starts scribbling on a blank piece of parchment next to the drawing.

They each study the drawing, muttering their thoughts, then speaking them out loud to discuss.

Finally, Rowan says in a soft voice, “I like it the way it is.”

The room falls silent. Rowan looks down, twists his left fingers into this right, then turns to each face in the drawing.

“Don’t you see? These are all our personalities. Frerin is having fun, like always. Leslie is serious and pensive. Thror looks confident, even sitting back behind his younger sister and brother. He’s the eldest son but doesn’t need so much spotlight to know who he is. Thrain is also happy but collected, and displaying all that hair so proudly. I am….well, looking a little shy. That’s not new, either.

“Lily, you’re happy but I can tell you’re worrying about something - probably how the portrait is going to come out, because you want Father and Mother to be pleased. You always want that; you’re always looking out for them. Kieran, I’m guessing you saw what Frerin was doing and started laughing. Even as a child you always looked so surprised and happy at his antics, but never drew attention to him for fear of getting him in trouble.”

Then Rowan gazes at the eldest pair on the parchment.

“And look at our parents.”

He takes a moment to push back the love and “Look at Father. That’s not just an old Dwarf King posing for a portrait. Thror, you mentioned his pride: we are his pride.

“He’s overcome so much. He watched as his home was taken in dragon fire, saw friends and family - his brother and grandfather included - die. And he’s cheated Death many times.

“He nearly let Amad go, thinking she was ‘unsuitable’ because of her younger age and being from the race of Men. He always tells us that story. He always reminds us to hold on to what’s important.

“Whether you look at our dear mother in the drawing, or in real life, it’s always the same: such love for Father. Think of all he has faced, and survived. Of course he’s smiling the brightest.

“Don’t we all want what they still have? Don’t we want those memories and that love?”

The question hangs in the air. The entire scene seems to freeze in time.

First, Rowan’s sisters and brothers let their shock sink in: Rowan has never spoken this much at one time, and so boldly, in his whole life.

Then, they think on his words, until Lily breaks the silence.

“Rowan’s right. I’ll tell Ori to leave the expressions and poses as they are, and we’ll just wait for the details and finishing touches. Mother and Father will love it.”

And with that, they huddle closer around the desk and take long looks at the drawing, feeling the enormity of their blessings, which cannot be measured in gold.

“But maybe Ori can make Lily look less constipated,” Frerin whispers in his most deadpan voice, breaking the moment.

He dashes through the door and down the corridor as Lily backs her chair up and takes off after him, cackling as she quickly closes in on his heels.


End file.
